


Older Than Dust

by Momma



Series: Undertale (AKA, the time I couldn't NOT) [2]
Category: Demitale (Undertale) AU, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (reader needs a name), All the human pantheons exist, Apparently I made an AU by accident, BP is more than just a Monster, BP is the son of Sekhmet, F/M, Reader has a thing for BP, Welcome to, demitale AU, one of the most exquisite goddesses of Egypt, the cat deserves better, where most if not all monsters are demigods to some extent, you fall for the kitty, you try to help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:41:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22791178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momma/pseuds/Momma
Summary: BP wasn't always Burgerpants. What if he was something older, something more ancient than even the war? What if he was old enough to remember the pyramids being built?What if some Monsters were once demigods?
Relationships: Burgerpants (Undertale)/Reader, OFM/Burgerpants
Series: Undertale (AKA, the time I couldn't NOT) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638478
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sick of staring at this, wondering if I should post it or delete it. Save me from myself. Do I update or nah? Do I scrap or continue?

CHAPTER ONE

  
Burgerpants sucked in slowly on his “cigarette”, letting the smoke curl in his not-lungs, letting the sedatives work in his system before breathing it out in a slow stream. It had been close to seven thousand years since he was a child, sitting in the lap of a djinn who would blow great swaths of smoke into his face, his mother sure of the properties of the herbs and remedies of one of her people. By now, it was more of a placebo than anything else, and barely as effective as sugar pills. At nearly seven thousand years old, the remedies and herbs and drugs just didn’t work anymore. He’d become immune. But, every so often, he found something that worked just enough to help him keep his... well, his something well under wraps, his senses grounded. If Asgore knew what he had under his “rule” for the last two thousand years, the old goat just might dust from shock alone.    
  
“‘Eeeeey, BP,” waved a regular of the bar as they walked past the alley and through the open door. It was close to midnight on a “pub crawl” weekend in early August. One last hurrah before college started up and school went back and there were a surprising amount of teachers getting smashed and karaoke was going strong tonight. Leaning harder into the red brick of ‘Grillby’s Aboveground’ place, he closed his eyes to take another drag, the hollow space of his ‘not-lungs’ expanding strongly before slowly deflating again. If Anu could see him now, he mused as pain lanced across his vision viciously, rubbing one strong set of finger pads over his brow then between his ears. It ached and burned with overstimulation. The sounds, scents, and light amplified.    
  
The smoking barely helped.    
  
(It actually never worked.)    
  
(He was tired of hurting.)   
  
“Hey, you okay?” murmured a soft voice from the lip of the alley, a small woman stepping closer with thick combat boots barely making a sound. BP couldn’t articulate right then, eyes clenched shut. “Sorry, standard question. Shit. Hey, try this on for size.”    
  
A warm, heavy leather jacket was lain over his head, the sides draped over his ears as thin fingers pressed into his head beside his own. “Let me,” is breathed into his neck, sure movements actually hitting all of those places that made him want to curl up and dust in just the right way. The sound of the city was muffled, the lined leather a barrier that helped more than he would have expected. He groaned, cig falling from his lips to the ground and burning merrily, wasting precious sedatives that didn’t work anyway. Laying his head over the woman’s, he let his body relax, fingers kneading her sides as her hands worked miracles on his throbbing skull. Tonight was not a good night.    
  
“Hey, hey,” she cooed. “Don’t fall asleep on me, I can’t carry you.” He purred, a low rumble in his chest that throbbed in time to his magic if not the ache in his head. “Wow, okay, we’re getting you to my place, okay? I don’t know what else will help and this isn’t just a migraine, holy shit.”    
  
Tugging on the edges of the leather, she pulled him from the wall, his legs nearly giving out. Small hands held him up, hugging him to her as she shuffled backwards. BP knew this was unwise, knew that this could be the end, his dusting... but he was tired and he ached all the way to his soul. Letting his world focus on the woman, he breathed in through his mouth the scent of leather and sweet pea blossom and a deeper flavor of earthy humanity that was all woman. She spoke again but he couldn’t parse the words, mewling when her head turned under his chin. She shushed him with her fingers even as one arm moved from him. The blaring of horns had him flinching, nails flashing from his fingertips to scratch almost gently into her sides. The jacket was pulled tighter around his head, the sound dimming further from his leathery cocoon.    
  
Her voice crooned to him, like a pretty song bird and just as tantalizing to his monster side as it was to his cat side. Shit. Fuck. He hadn’t had an episode crash this hard in centuries. Humanity was just... so much. Overwhelming and understated. A sharp tang of flesh that he hadn’t beheld in his senses in over a thousand years and pollution that he had never tasted intermingling with chemicals that would rot his not-lungs if they could.    
  
The low sounds of a car coming to a stop should have bothered him, been a red flag. Instead, it was ignored with the woman before him, tugging him gently down and then inside, his head tucked against hers as she held him in the cradle of her body. She murmured beside his head to someone and the click of mechanisms latching barely made it through the pounding of his head and his rolling purr and the steady beat of his magic and her heart that was right under him, strong and sure and enduring. His finger pads pressed tighter into her sides, the world shaking around them gently before smoothing out in a glide. Words curled over his head, around his ears, but he wouldn’t be able to say what they were, unable to actually hear them.    
  
Pressing his head closer to the warmth of the woman, nose under her jaw, mouth open and sucking in air greedily against her skin, he focused as well as his pain addled mind would allow, the ringing in his ears from too much replaced by her heart, the thrum of magic and soul. Next was smell and taste, the heavy putrid weight of gasoline and octane drowned out by sweet pea blossoms and earthy flesh. Touch was soft skin and cloth, real and smooth and almost delicate under his finger pads. And, with his eyes covered, he was able to keep out the lights, that flashing neon and blaring fluorescent. For a moment, he could almost be content despite being wrapped in synthetic fibers that rubbed his fur wrong and the wild shouting of revelers outside of the constant of magic and soul and heart beats.    
  
Almost but not entirely.    
  
(His life story.)    
  
(Almost. But not.)    
  
(By the stars, he ached.) 


	2. Awkward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I need fellow UT fans to talk to on Discord](https://discord.gg/4dCN72X)
> 
> Maybe even cry or yell about AUs

CHAPTER TWO    
  
You are not sure what you’re doing. You are not going back and undoing it, though. You are RESOLVED and DETERMINED and that will have to be enough. And you hope Pharaoh and Siti will be okay with a strange Monster Cat, even as you know Asim will just watch and wait. The giant Maine Coon was, for all his trials, a laid back, relaxed cat. Pharaoh and Siti... not so much.    
  
Sighing into the well loved leather of your jacket, you silently wonder how you get into these kinds of messes. Then you remember a face drawn in, human and felid in equal measures, in obvious stress and pain. You are something of a bleeding heart where cats are concerned, small and large and obviously Monster originated, too. That is why you have three cats that had been rescued from a man two doors down once someone noticed he was getting his Sphinx cats tattooed. You are not lying, the guy was paying out the ass to get his two Sphinx tattooed with gold and everything. Pharaoh has a glittery neckline in the shape of the collar made popular from sarcophagus imagery and Siti was a golden goddess with wings and everything on her back, those poor kitties.   
  
You may have taken your bat to the man’s shins at one point.    
  
But back to the topic! Or issue! You are unsure which this falls under! Like, how are you going to care for a cat dealing with a migraine and heightened senses? And, honestly, it was probably worse that you thought it was because most Monsters with animal features seemed just fine after the Adjustment Period of being Aboveground. This guy was definitely not.    
  
Your driver Ahmad is the cat’s meow, a guy you met on the college campus your bestie attended. Married with two sons and another kiddo on the way, he is gentlemanly conduct in motion. His adorable wife Aziza is a darling goddess of motherhood. Cute as a kitten, too. You sigh, thinking about them for a moment and their adorable couple-ness before deciding why the hell not. “Hey, Ahmed? Can you drop us off at my actual house?”    
  
Dark eyes side eye you. “Really, Mau?” His voice is a deep thing and his wife is lucky as all hell, his voice is the stuff of wet dreams. “Really? Do you just pick up any cat and take it home?”    
  
You are not that bad. Really.    
  
(You actually are that bad. Really.)    
  
And, wait, how does he know this guy is a cat? All the features are covered! If he has a tail, it isn’t visible right now. So... mystery. For later. “I am not that bad,” you hiss just like a cat. “Dammit, Ahmed.”    
  
He doesn’t laugh like usual and that is another nail in the proverbial coffin. Something is definitely going on. But, you know, you have something else to take care of first. Or someone, actually. Yeah, put the mystery of Ahmed on the back burner because, shit, how are you going to help a Monster Cat?    
  
Rubbing over your face, you groan lowly. How are you going to help? Yeah, you’re called the Cat Whisperer and Cat Goddess in jest by a lot of people on your block and the surrounding areas (because not helping a cat is anathema to you and when someone comes up with a cat issue, you do your weird thing) but you’re just you. This Monster Cat is going to have needs you can’t anticipate. You have read all the pamphlets available, the ones by humans and the ones by Monsters, and you hope you have a strong enough grasp of the situation to do something.    
  
Running your hands over the jacket covered head, you watch the lights outside the window wiz by as you are driven to your little two story cottage set in a mild mannered neighborhood that was pretty colorful (one neighbor was from Jamaica and a mess of colors most days, while another was from England with a penchant for frog marching you in for a tea every so often) and very quiet compared to the downtown hubbub of the nightlife. The only people you have to worry about are the new couple from somewhere in Alabama - they’re odd but funny when they aren’t being casually racist. (That had bothered you until you realized they had no idea that they were being casual assholes to four-fifths of the residents. They are working on it.) Still, small mercies.    
  
“Thanks, Ahmed,” you say, watching your friend get out and open the car door for you and your Bump. Which is mean, but the Monster Cat is imitating one very spectacularly on your body. Does that make you the log? You snicker even as Ahmed has to help you slide out enough to get your legs under you. The Monster Cat is no help, limp and panting into your neck as he clutches your sides hard enough that his popped claws dig in. You’re used to Siti, so this isn’t that hard to ignore despite the size difference. Your friend helps you stand fully, the Monster Cat taking a sluggish moment to find his feet. Good good. “Hey, open my door? Please?”    
  
Ahmed knows where your spare key is and retrieves it as you slowly make your way up the short walk and to the long porch. Stairs. You forgot about those. Sighing, you just do it. You have to be inside so no one notices enough to bother your newfound pal honcho. Step up and back, one! Now to get the kitty to follow you up. Step two leads to questionable success since the Monster Cat is on the step, but only after tripping over it. Step three introduces step two to kitty and he seems to be getting the idea as he only sways as he comes up. Stepping onto the porch isn’t too bad since he’s anticipating it now, and when you step back, he’s smooth to follow with little beyond a slow sway.    
  
Ahmed has your door open and while your three cats are peering out, they show no interest in leaving the warm, rosemary and lavender smelling house. Your roses are almost ready to be clipped and dried, you absently muse, willing to add their floral flavor to your house. Which should not be a concern, honestly. Your brain. Seriously.    
  
“Thank you,” you breathe to the man before stepping into the house, your cats scattering to the sitting room while you direct your Monster Cat to your bed. The guest bed is currently host to your art supplies and that just isn’t something you want to mess with at this point. The front door is closed, the lock thrown, spare returned, and the sound of a car going about its business in the late evening tells you where Ahmed is. You sigh a little more, happy to have such a good friend. Then you hit the worst kind of obstacle: your closed bedroom door. How to get you and mister kitty in without your three cats invading.    
  
Well, there would be no helping it.    
  
Glaring at the three luminous sets of eyes, you open the door and slip through as fast as you can with your Bump to your log. The cats make no move to come closer, oddly enough, but you just thank any deity listening for that. Closing the door by kicking it shut around his legs, you tug him to the bed. “Come on, on the bed.”    
  
There is a moment of hesitation before he shakes his head in a negative. You sigh, sliding your hands under your coat, reaching up to slide your fingers through fur across brow and between the ears. Thumbs on his brow bone, you start to massage gently, calm and firm and with the fur. He makes a noise like absolution that does something funny to your tummy. You ignore it, but he is not a quiet kitty. Damn, his voice is getting lower and fuller and deep enough to wallow in. Things tingle on you in an entirely ridiculous and inappropriate reaction.    
  
Pushing your jacket off his face, you look at him. He seems... different than from earlier. His ears look bigger and more pointed like a proper cat and his brow is less obvious while his face is less flat, his muzzle more prominent. It’s like... it’s like he’s shedding a human mask. He is a cat, you realize. An honest Monster Cat, his ears visibly becoming larger, fuller before your eyes. He is not some halfway or hybrid. Very like “The Cat Returns” from Studio Ghibli. He’s... honestly gorgeous. You blush, biting your lip as you continue your ministrations. He is really purring now and you are going to die from heart palpitations. He’s... cute. And handsome. And you always were a cat person and now you have a Cat Person in your home. Just. How weird was this?    
  
Blushing clear to your roots at your train of thought, you ignore said train very hard. A few minutes later, you blink a little in concern as he seems to shimmy and shake, fur on his neck standing on end. “... off,” he croaks, paws leaving you to take over his clothes. Oh. OH! Oh, right. Fur. And his clothes are probably pulling it wrong. He snarls, eyes closed but lips pulled away from very sharp looking teeth. “Off!”    
  
You catch his paws, seeing the claws have already done a number on the sleeves. You are quick to shush him, helping him unbutton the top and very carefully not looking as he sheds the synthetic cloth. His hands go to his pants and you blush harder. “Okay, uno momento, papi, you can’t get naked just yet!”    
  
Your pen pal from Japan (a school project gone awry in the best way) had sent some authentic cotton sleep yukatas some years ago, traditionally made and while you were much curvier than said friend, she had been excited (and jealous) to get your measurements to send you some “real Japanese” clothing. You had loved them at first sight and you are so, so glad you have them right now. While it might be long enough to pool on the floor while on you when not belted properly, the yukata would be long enough for the Monster Cat. And roomy. Grabbing belt loops, you pull him to the standing armoire, popping open the first door and reaching blindly for the soft weave of cotton. You’re lucky as you don’t have much hanging and they are so seldom used (because you do not want to ruin those precious gifts from a precious friend) that when you grope around the side that seldom sees action, they are readily available.    
  
So you pluck one off (or all of them, that is not a good noise, your armoire is now in shambles, how wonderful) and are quick to throw it around surprisingly defined shoulders. “Okay, the pants can come off now, just let me undo the belt, okay?”    
  
He whines, face pressing to your neck and clawed hands back on your hips. This kind of shit is not right, you know. Something is very seriously wrong. You have no idea what you’re doing, but you are going to try, dammit. Unbuckling his belt, you leave it in the loops, blushing seven shades of red as you unbutton and unzip his pants. Can you see what you’re doing? No, you cannot, but you’ve never been this intimate with anyone not under five. Dressing, or undressing, someone is... they depend on you to do something for them. With explicit trust. Or wild reluctance, your cuz’s boy was a naked wild child and would be cited for indecent exposure one day, you are sure.    
  
Ahem.    
  
“Should I...?” You did NOT want to overstep yourself. This is no child and taking any decision from him will be cruel. He is going to be relying on you for a few hours, maybe more. You have to do your best to give him his autonomy and space. Neither of which he seems to care about right now. He pulls you closer, your hands on his hips the only thing keeping his slacks from the floor. You feel like you might overheat, your face blush becoming an all over thing to highlight just how weird this is for you and possibly how strangely comfortable you actually are which seems shameful. “Sweetie? Azizi, I need to know if I can undress you the rest of the way.”    
  
He takes a deep breath, mouth open as he scents the air. “... pleasssse...”    
  
You let the slacks fall, the overly loud jangling of full pockets and a freed belt buckle makes him cringe, his face pushing harder into your neck, hands tightening. You feel nails scrape your skin and he kneads and flexes his hands against you. It feels really nice and you feel like you might melt. All you have left to remove are his underclothes and, wow, you are feeling like such a creeper right now. Because you are wondering what he looks like. He’s in pain and you are fantasizing what he might look like. Get your shit together, woman, and do this.    
  
Melting into your floor metaphorically out of sheer heated blushing while physically kneeling at his feet, you reach blindly for the elasticated waistband, peeling it down before letting the underwear slide from his hips. You pointedly do not look. And realize something. You need help of the psychiatric type. Really. And, yeah, you could have just let him do it himself but, reasons. Mainly you don’t want him shredding his underclothes. Or aware of his sensitivity. And if he becomes more aware of his sensitivity he won’t wear the nice yukata and then you will have to die. Because your heart might just stop if he wanders around your home naked.    
  
... Dear mercy, you are going to die.    
  
In the best worst way possible, you will die because he is making you do feminine clenchy-trembling things just imagining it and you have not done that kind of interested leering in years. Hot damn. Taking a deep breath, you look at his feet. And realize he’s still wearing shoes and most likely socks.    
  
Fuck your life.    
  
Taking a much shakier breath, you reach for his feet around the puddled slacks, studiously ignoring anything above knee height because you are a responsible adult, fuck dammit, and work to unlace and remove the very nice shoes. “Come on, Azizi, foot up,” you coax. He complies after pressing his paws to your shoulders and you can almost feel the laser like stare of the feline. You slip off one shoe and sock and move his clothes out of the way. “And next, please.”    
  
Like this, quiet and docile to your instructions and touch, you feel something like a protective urge that makes you both bristle at the thought of anyone looking for him and calm because you know he will have someone looking at all and they might be the better option to care for him. It’s confusing and frustrating in the back of your mind because most of the front and center is doing its best to dribble out your ears from sheer sensual overload. Even just looking at his legs, having seen his chest, you know he is fit even as his clothes are the kind to lend an unkempt, slouching, overweight look to him. His appearance is deceptive without effort and you know he has done this for years - there is no explanation of why he steps into that kind of mental pattern so easily. The only question is: who is he hiding so hard from?    
  
“Okay, Azizi,” you coo. “I’m going to stand up. Can you step back for me?”    
  
There is a rumble, a sound of displeasure that you know after having your cats for months and that one bath time for the two Sphinx. You do need to stand up, though. So, leaning back on your toes, you roll your hips and feet back, crouching on your toes now instead of kneeling and winching all the way. It has been a long while since you’ve done a stunt like that and your everything below the waist is complaining loudly. Pressing your hands to your thighs, you stand shakily, things squeaking in the wet works that are your joints. Damn, you aren’t old, but hell if you don’t feel like it right now. Ow.    
  
Immediately his fingers are back on you, broad paws rubbing skin as his face goes right back into your neck. Okay. You can handle this. 

“Come, Azizi, bed time,” you croon, walking him to bed and cringing because you will be sleeping in dirty clothes and an unwashed body. 

You do not, repeat, you  _ do not _ expect him to reach for your clothes. The first tug on your top is ignored. The second one is not. He’s pushing it up and off your torso, leaning down to press his face into your belly. The vibrations of him purring into your soft skin is instantly arousing and you feel extremely embarrassed. 

“Azizi?” 

He can’t seem to form words, but his head is pressing up, the fabric of your bra hindering him in his seeming need to get skin contact. He acts touch-starved, he acts like he can’t help that he is doing this, a thread of something in his purr and voice that sets off your mental alarms. He acts like he’s been without for too long, isn’t sure it’s real. Just what it is has been missing, you’re unsure, but… 

Dammit. You’re weak to cats, alright? 

Up and off goes your shirt followed by your bra. The way he nuzzles into you isn’t sexual at all—it’s far too desperate. “Oh, Azizi,” you croon, rubbing your hand through his fur. “It’s okay, baby. Come on, let’s lay down. We can shower tomorrow and then you’ll feel better. Come on, Azizi.” 

You slide back to the bed, glad you’ve splurged on those however many thread cotton sheets because they’re the real McCoy and maybe your kitty friend will be less likely to kick them off once you get you both on the bed. 

You squeak when you tumble back suddenly, your house guest with you. You’re on the bed and in your boots and jeans and it is the most awkward thing to you, even beyond falling with a ridiculously handsome cat Monster all but laying on you. Ugh. You just had to wear your combats. 

Yet, once you’re there, feet hanging off the bed, you’re covered in a feline blanket that nuzzles into your neck before falling still. Moments later, he’s purring and snoring like a chainsaw. Despite this, you eventually  _ do _ sleep. Somehow. 


	3. Azizi

CHAPTER THREE 

You wake up with your legs aching, a massive purring cat curled around your head, and cold boobs. Shivering, you slip free of the Monster long enough to shed your boots, socks, and pants. Clad only in your racy, lacy panties you like to wear to feel sexy and cute, you debate crawling back into the bed. It hasn’t been that long and for some reason, you’re ridiculously tired. Honestly, you haven’t been this exhausted since you were in college and had four days of classes back to back and worked two jobs. 

Shrugging, debating your state of dress…. well, honestly, you’re not sure you care. You  _ will _ be changing panties because these are made to be taken off — not slept in. 

Not quite unbeknownst to you, as you walk to the standing dresser, you have someone waking up in your bed. Sleepy eyes on your thicker-than-a-snicker bum and thick thighs (save lives) figure, you (not so) innocently draw the lace panties down in a slow slide to keep from tearing the deep purple lace. Bending from the waist, you push them down and step delicately out of them, stepping over to drop them in the delicates bag hanging off a knob. Pulling open the top drawer, you fish out soft cotton panties that hug tightly when you step into them. They’re, ironically enough, nearly the same orange of your guest. Shaking your hips to settle the boy-cut cheekies, you turn back to the bed. 

Your voyeur has already closed his eyes, purple suffusing his cheeks almost enough to glow. You smirk. You usually aren’t one to be a tease, baring it all and giving nothing, but you have a feline with sensory overload in your bed who may or may not be perving on you right now and, like you said before, you have a weakness and it is  _ cats. _

“Hey,” you call, leaning over him. “Feeling better, Azizi?” You run your hand over his head, between his ears and down his neck. He purrs, the sound heavy and deep as he relaxes on the bed. You smile at him, crawling back into the bed but this time pulling the sheets up around you both and tugging him against your body. You’re tired. You haven’t been body shy since you first learned how to pull your clothes off as a toddler. It’s late. It is far past the time to sleep. 

Running your fingers through the fur on his head, cradling him close, you yawn. “Sleep, Azizi. Rest. The morning will be here soon enough.” 

He seems to relax into you and you smile before exhaustion claims you. 

BP had… well, he hadn’t anticipated falling asleep any time soon, much less with a stranger. His skull had been a full brass band in an echoing cavern and now. It just. He was content.  _ Content. _ It felt foreign after centuries of forced moderation of himself and a cloudy head of narcotics and opiums. 

Feeling the woman beneath him relax into sleep, he lifted his head from her belly, looking beyond her breasts to her face—though not as quickly as he should. He was captivated, marveling over her, feeling for once acceptable. The problem, he thought, with being not Monster enough was that it left one much more vulnerable to the shifting of time. Religions changed, practices of worship slanted, and those who required belief to be powerful were often the first to die as their bodies wore out, broke down. 

There weren’t many left who were Demigod Monsters, even fewer that were more Demi than Monster. Poor Sans was almost as bad off as BP was and that was just fucking sad. Huffing as he snuggled into  _ his… _ human, because he couldn’t keep his thoughts in check and his need to claim her ate at him like mites in his ears, he allowed himself to doze, the world around him calming instead of too intense. 

While he thought of it, when he was lucid enough, he tried to figure out why he was so suddenly attached to a human woman. She had saved him, yes, but… that was not entirely all there was. It was deeper, older. He hummed, purring as he wrapped tighter around her body. She was soft all over, pleasant to touch, to hold. 

She’d probably be pleasant to— 

Deep breaths. 

He wasn’t the son of a literal goddess here. Not in this time. He was just some random Monster cat. That’s when his eyes spied three glowing pairs, a thickly furred feline the size of a child and… two Sphinx. He blinked, eyes narrowing before going wide, the metallic necklace pressed into the skin of the male jolting his weary mind into awareness. 

“By my mother,” he rasped, body fighting the wispy feeling of  _ something _ not of this plane. “What has been done to you?” 

_ “The human who had done this has been taken care of,”  _ chirruped the female Sphinx, her eyes vivid yellow in her dark face. She was as regal as any queen, the glittering wings of an Egyptian Sphinx in bold lines of real gold. Monster gold.  _ “Worry not, Young Master.”  _

BP snorted at that, opening his mouth to taste the air, to take in the scents of the felines and the woman below him. Sweet pea blossoms and  _ woman _ overwhelmed him for a moment and a deep seeded longing curled from his SOUL to perforate the whole of him. It would be terribly unwise, but when had he ever claimed being a sensible, wise cat? 

_ “Oh, he’s caught her scent,” _ snickered the male Sphinx, his glittering necklace vivid on his pale flesh.  _ “Ah, yes. A tragically turned moment in the Days of Our Lives.”  _

_ “Hush, brother,”  _ hissed the female.  _ “Young Master is still trying to regain his footing.” _

BP was not awake enough to parse any of that apart. The asshole was caught. Good. That was all that mattered. Pressing his face into the neck of the human woman, he started purring from the scent of her saturating him. 

_ “Young Master,”  _ murmured a new voice, this one deeper, throaty and heavy with intent.  _ “I am Asim. Siti is my bond sister. Pharaoh is my bond brother. We are here at the kindness and mercy of the Mistress. Please, be considerate of your time here.”  _

Sighing, BP propped himself up, staring at the massive Maincoon feline. “She will be well in my care.” It had been so long since he had to speak with anyone about something like this. Been longer than he cared to think when he was scolded by anyone with the cadence of a worried parent. Asim was a good guardian for a human. “I don’t know what you expect of me. I am just a humble Monster now, am I not?” 

Three small snorts were his response and he grinned. That was fine. He knew, they knew, but it wasn’t like anyone else knew. Certainly not this beautiful woman with a Soul light and warm enough to make Anubis weep for the beauty of it. The way she turned into him, her arms coming up around him as she turned on her side… 

Pressing close, he closed his eyes and held tight. 

You awaken to jerky, hurried motions, the bed rocking and creaking as you try and figure out what exactly is going on. The massive line of Azizi in your arms is the first clue. The second is him, naked and humping into your thigh in an almost desperate rush to release. Ah.  _ Ah. _

Fuck, you  _ are _ still horny. You didn’t get to scratch the sexual itch like anticipated and now you’re here in bed with a Monster who is also a cat and a handsome, gorgeous male. While nothing is untoward yet, your panties are starting to blotch with need and honestly, you are down for fucking the unanticipated bed partner. First thing first, though: wake him up. 

Consent is sexy. 

“Azizi,” you croon, gently shaking his shoulder. One eye peers at you, sleep bleary and needy. “Azizi, wake up. I need consent.” He growls, rolling until he is looming over you. He doesn’t seem cognizant and you put your hands on his cheeks to keep him from trying to kiss you. “Azizi. _Azizi,_ **wake up,** my kitty.” 

Purple flares around your felid guest, his eyes going wide before he rolls off you and into the floor. You lean up and over the edge, mouth pulling apart into a grin even as you snort a short laugh. The Monster groans as he covers his face. 

“I cannot  _ believe  _ I was  _ doing that. _ I am.  _ So sorry. _ I’ll just Dust right here…”

You laugh loudly, reaching for him. “Oh, Azizi.” You pull at one of his paws while hanging off the bed. “You’re okay. It’s fine. It’s better than fine. I just wanted to make sure you were aware and consented to sex. I didn’t mind.  _ At all.”  _

He groans again, letting you take his paw. You kiss his palm pad. “You are  _ completely  _ unfair.” 

You giggle a little, tugging at him. “Back at’cha, handsome kitty. Now come back up. You’ve started something, it’s only polite you finish it.” 

He growls, eye peeking out as you see the pupil dilate until it fills up the whole iris with interest and need. He easily allows himself to be pulled to you, soon enough crawling up and over you. “Is… is this alright?” 

You laugh, a low sound that you’re surprised you can make. It helps that you feel sexy with how badly he wants you. “Oh, Azizi, I will let you know if it isn’t. I invited  _ you _ up here, remember? Of course it’s alright.” You run your fingers through his fur, cupping his cheeks. “I’m down for some sexy fun and I really like you already. Now. You were humping my leg, why not out those motions to better use?” 

If he turns any redder under his fur, it just might make it change color. Giggling, you draw him into a kiss. Best snap decision ever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to link my Discord — but I’m v tired. Please remind me at some point.


End file.
